


Gossip Makes the World Go Round

by Blissymbolics



Series: Charming [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, mild violence, sex work au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blissymbolics/pseuds/Blissymbolics
Summary: “Hey, you want to get dinner some time?” Ed asks, a nervous twinge in his voice. “I’ll pay.”Roy gives a small laugh. “How traditional.” He taps his empty bottle against the tabletop, thinking it over.After a decade of sex work Roy has finally made it to retirement. With Chris handing him the keys to the business, a world of opportunity seems to open up. He just needs to figure out where Edward fits in.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: Charming [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459954
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	Gossip Makes the World Go Round

It has been a very bad night – his worst in a while. Any night that ends in a hospital waiting room with a bruised wrist and black eye is bound to be miserable in and of itself, but to make matters worse, his own injuries aren’t even the reason why he came in the first place.

He arrived a little past midnight and received the vaguest of updates. After about an hour of waiting, one of the nurses brought him some ice wrapped in a towel and asked if he wanted to see a doctor, but he politely turned her down. He’s dealt with far worse, no need to waste their time on something that will heal on its own. She brought him some Tylenol anyway.

The day had started out normal enough. He was on his last appointment of the night: a one-hour session with Brigadier General Peters, a regular client who always had a bit of a low-grade temper, but around Roy he’d never been anything but civil. But as soon as he stepped through the door Roy knew there was going to be trouble. His stance was wide, his face tense, palpable aggression simmering like a pot of water. Before Roy could even open his mouth to ask what was wrong, Peters smashed an empty wine glass to the floor and accused Roy of pawning off information to Colonel Hamlin, his direct subordinate who’s been orchestrating his demise for years.

Roy stood against the wall, arms crossed, face calm, thinking about the loaded pistol sitting in the bureau about about five steps away. Ever the professional, Roy calmly informed him that he’d never so much as heard of Colonel Hamlin, and certainly wasn’t dealing him any backchannel secrets.

His defenses fell on deaf ears as Peters stalked around the room, knocking over anything that obstructed his path. Roy began inching towards the desk, mentally rehearsing how to subtly extract the gun from the drawer without Peters noticing. He was no more than a foot away when Peters lunged forward and landed a fist straight to his right eye, nearly sending him to the floor. Roy managed the catch himself against the desk, but before he could retaliate, Peters grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him forward, his grip digging into his pulse.

Fortunately Roy had just enough space to pull open the drawer, withdraw the gun, and press the barrel firm against Peters’ forehead. As soon as the cold metal made contact Peters drew back in a flurry, nearly tripping over a lamp he’d knocked to the floor. Roy did his best to hold back a smirk as he cocked the trigger, swallowing the taste of blood.

“I politely request that you leave now,” Roy said. “Or do I need to remind you that I know how to contact your wife and children, and I have no qualms about making myself a nuisance.”

The shock on Peters’ face twisted into a grimace, so ugly it was a struggle for Roy to keep his gaze in focus. Roy was never a very good shot, but he knows how to hit a target pointblank, and his arm is as steady as ever. He’s never resorted to blackmailing a client before, or shooting one for that matter, but there’s a first time for everything.

Peters glared at him a few seconds longer, then let out a scoff and started walking towards the door. Roy kept the pistol trained on his back, refusing to lower it until the door slammed shut, and he didn’t click on the safety until all three deadbolts were locked.

After several minutes of silence, Roy felt reasonably certain that Peters was out of the building. Then he let out a sigh and went to pour himself a glass of scotch from one of the few bottles that Peters hadn’t knocked to the floor. While taking small sips he inspected the red handprint forming around his wrist, testing its movement to make sure nothing was broken. He pressed the cold glass to his pulsing eye, too wrung out to fetch a wet towel.

God, he hates this job. He hates it. He hates the constant performance, the balancing act that would give any politician a run for his money. He hates giving himself to people who obviously couldn’t care less about him, valuing him no more than an expensive bottle of wine. He hates laughing at their jokes and stroking their egos, playing their games and tiptoeing around their aggression. He hates cleaning up their messes, and yes, he hates the sex too. It’s been almost eleven years; he’s done his time. He’s thirty-three, and he’s sick of it.

That’s when the phone started ringing. Roy let out a groan, hoping that Peters didn’t storm down to the bar to start causing trouble.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Hey, Roy, it’s Vanessa. Sorry to interrupt your appointment, but it’s about Chris. It’s an emergency.”

Now three hours later, Roy is still slouched in his thinly-padded chair and drinking his second cup of stale coffee. It’s been ages since his last update, and even then the doctor’s language was so vague it only exacerbated his anxiety. He glances up at the clock: 4:04am. He’s beginning to nod off, his head lolling side to side, the quiet chatter around him filtering in and out. He thinks about Peters, wonders if he’s home in bed with his wife right now, warm and uncaring. Roy clenches his teeth as a rush of bitter anger overcomes his faculties. He’s had sex with the man maybe thirty times. Thirty fucking times, just to be tossed around like trash. Bastard. All of them are fucking bastards.

“Roy Mustang?”

Roy’s eyes snap open at the sound of his name. He looks up to see a doctor in plain scrubs standing above him, a paper mask hanging from his right ear. Roy wipes the back of his hand over his eyes to clear away the black spots, but winces when he accidentally presses too hard. He still has no idea how bad the damage is. He hasn’t had a chance to look in a mirror, as he was afraid to go to the bathroom lest he miss the doctor.

It’s been two years since he was last hit, and he was hoping to make it till retirement without anymore incidents, which may have been wishful thinking.

“I want to let you know that Christine is doing just fine. It seems like she had a minor myocardial infraction. That means–“

“A heart attack, I know what it means.” His tone is sharp, but he’s far too exhausted to care about being sociable. Thankfully the doctor seems accustomed to it.

“Okay, good. Well, she scared us for a bit, but as of right now there’s no need for surgery. We’ll keep her under observation for a day or two and monitor any changes, but her prognosis is very good.”

Roy sinks back into his chair, trying to savor the relief. It’s strange, it’s been over three hours since he got the call from Vanessa, yet it never crossed his mind for a second that Chris might actually die. She’s been immortal ever since he was a little kid, brushing off every illness with whiskey and spite. She was a bedrock that would outlast Amestrian society, still hustling and scheming long after the rest of them were in the ground. But now he has to confront the somber reality that she might not be here for much longer, maybe another decade if they’re lucky, but probably less.

“Can I see her?” he asks.

The doctor nods. “Sure, that’s fine. It’ll have to be quick since it’s late, but regular visitor hours start in the morning at nine.”

“Thank you.”

Roy pushes himself out of the chair, his spine popping in several places. He wavers for a second after standing up as all the blood rushes to his legs, then in a half-lucid daze he follows the doctor through the double doors leading into the main ward, his hands balled in his coat pockets and head bowed low.

“By the way,” the doctor says, “would you like to see someone about your eye?”

Roy shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. Just some drunk looking for trouble.”

The doctor nods. At least he has the courtesy not to pry any further.

After a few more hallways filled with terse silence, they finally arrive at Chris’ room. It’s a double, but the neighboring bed is empty. Chris is lying next to the wide window in a plain hospital gown, a thin oxygen tube clamped to her nose and an IV protruding from her hand. Her hair is disheveled and her heavy mascara is dried in thick streaks down her splotchy face. But her expression is as livid as ever, as though all this were nothing more than a petty inconvenience. The half-smile she gives him as he approaches says as much.

“What happened to you?” she asks, her voice rough and grating.

Roy instinctively brings a hand up to his sore eye.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” He gives her a smile. It’s not like they can openly talk about what happened with the doctor here anyway. He takes a seat in the chair next to her bed, the frame identical to the ones in the waiting room.

Chris raises a hand to his cheek to trace the ridge of the bruise with her thumb.

“You get him back?” she asks.

Roy laughs. “Awfully sexist of you to assume it was a man. But yes, I got him back.”

“Good boy.” She gives his cheek a pat before letting her arm fall back to the bed. Then she lets out a weary sigh, the wrinkles on her face heavy and deep.

“Guess you’ll be looking after the business for the time being. I think you’ve earned a promotion by now anyway.”

“Wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

Chris scoffs. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Just keep things running till I can bust out of here.”

Roy smiles. He doesn’t doubt her for a second.

-

Roy gets a taxi back to his apartment, grabs a solid four hours of sleep, drinks two cups of coffee, then goes in to work.

He cancels every appointment in his calendar, which is no easy task since he sometimes schedules people months in advance. Once that’s settled he has to go through the tedious process of reassigning all his clients to the other men, hoping they won’t lose many long-term customers in the changeover. By the time all that’s settled there’s only an hour left before the bar opens, and it still feels like there are a million chores he needs to cover.

Despite Chris’ age, she always pulled way more than her weight, and covering for her is no small task. From nightfall until sunrise Roy finds himself managing the phone lines, tending the bar, entertaining guests, and picking up all the odd tasks that Chris handled so seamlessly that most of them never even knew they existed.

It’s stressful to say the least, but the first night goes smooth enough, and the regulars tell Roy to shower Chris with their well wishes. Many of them have been coming to the bar for over a decade, usually just to enjoy the company and atmosphere, get an eyeful of a couple pretty girls while indulging in Chris’ unparalleled skill for gossip.

Roy eats a small messy dinner between shifts and gets home just as the papers are being delivered. He crashes in bed and sleeps like the dead, then wakes up six hours later and goes back to do it all over again.

Two days later Chris is discharged and confined to bedrest, which of course she kicks up a fuss about, and orders a telephone brought to her bedside so she can continue scheming from the comfort of her suite. Meanwhile Roy spends most of his days in the office and most nights darting around the ground floor, trying to manage a seemingly never-ending list of responsibilities. It’s a learning curve, but it’s nothing he hasn’t done before. And after a week it finally begins to sink in that he is really, truly retired.

Just like that, a ten-year chapter of his life is over. If all goes well, from here on out, sex will be on his terms and his terms alone. It can exist as something on the periphery, a pleasant distraction, not the foundation of his livelihood. He can pursue people he’s actually attracted to, cut out all the acts he finds unappealing, and finally start catching up on the experiences that most people have in their twenties. It’s exciting, if not a bit daunting.

With all that said, he really wasn’t prepared for how horny he would get so quickly. He supposes it makes sense. When you’ve been having sex multiple times a day for ten years straight it’s only natural that his body should demand a certain quota, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

For the first week he hardly notices it, but eventually he starts getting restless, that nagging dissatisfaction that jerking off twice a day won’t relieve. After three weeks he swears he’s suffering from withdrawal symptoms, a hilarious disposition in and of itself. Of course it’s not like casual sex is especially hard to find in this city, but he works nights, so it’s not like he has a convenient window to go out and get laid.

Finally his first real night off in a month rolls around, and he intends to make the most of it. He feels like he’s fifteen again, and the thoughts running through his head are probably just as mature.

He chooses a bar well known for these types of rendezvous. It’s a small place in the corner of an alley that couples rarely frequent. It’s where he would go maybe twice a year when he wasn’t completely exhausted and found himself craving some companionship that was only transactional in the biblical sense.

He sits down at the bar and orders a drink, already scanning the room, feeling stupid in his desperation. He’s not even sure if he remembers how to flirt. Sure, he can put on a seductive act, but it's far different when the person has already paid you and the flirtations are simply part of the role-play. Flirting with an uncertain outcome is another game entirely.

Fortunately Roy doesn’t have to second-guess himself for too long, because not five minutes after sitting down he’s approached by a young woman with long brown hair who asks if he can spare a light.

They go back to her place since it’s closer, and thankfully they’re on the exact same wavelength because as soon as the door is shut she throws her arms around his neck and guides him to push her back against the wall. As they kiss she begins unbuttoning his shirt and he reaches under her dress to find she’s already wet.

The neighbors certainly get an earful. She curses on every other breath as Roy lets himself truly get lost in it. It’s wet and filthy and the most fun he’s had since that night with Edward almost seven months ago. This is what it’s supposed to be like, he thinks to himself. Paying for it makes everything more complicated. There’s almost always a latent bitterness among his clients, either because they feel ashamed for having to pay for it, or they’re angry about the circumstances that necessitate it. And while Roy genuinely holds no ill will against the majority of his now-former clients, he can’t think of any that he would willing sleep with on his own time.

They eventually call it a night when she runs out of condoms. Then they fall asleep curled in the sweat-drenched sheets. That’s another luxury Roy almost never gets to enjoy: the simple pleasure of getting to fall asleep afterwards, a warm body pressed against his own.

The next morning she stumbles out of bed and Roy watches her practically limp towards the bathroom to turn on the shower. With a groan Roy pushes himself out of bed, puts on some coffee, and cuts a couple slices of bed to slip in the toaster.

She’s in the military: artillery supply. She says she likes it because she never has to worry about what to wear. Roy smiles as he sips his coffee and watches her get dressed. After resigning from the military he had to give back his uniform, but he got to keep the single badge he’d earned after his year stationed out west.

That may have been the most surreal year of his life. There he was, stationed in West City, a cornucopia of debauchery where all of Amestris’ divorcees and runaways congregated. There was barely enough paperwork to keep him occupied, and meanwhile the newspapers and radio lines were buzzing with endless coverage of the calamity befalling Ishval. He wrote to Hughes a number of times, and received back beaten envelopes containing lengthy letters chronicling feats of depravity so profound it was painful to read. In those letters Hughes begged him not to go through with the State Alchemist Exam, and Roy was only too eager to take his advice. If the military ever got their hands on flame alchemy it could destroy Amestris from the inside out. So Roy listened, and resigned as soon as his contract was up.

Before leaving for work, his date writes down her number and gives him a key and tells him to slip it under the door after locking up. Then she kisses him and tells him to call anytime.

Her name is Marianne. He wonders what she would think if he told her that up until very recently this is what he did for a living.

-

“So, how have things been around here?” Riza asks. She decided to stop by during her lunch break, and was nice enough to bring him a sandwich as well. He returned the favor by offering her a beer.

“Business has been good,” he replies. “Chris is almost back to normal. She’d probably be working down here all night if we weren’t keeping an eye on her.”

“So you’re planning to stick around?” she asks before taking a sip of her drink.

Roy shrugs. “At this point I think I’m too old to change careers. Besides, what else would I even do?”

“There’s always alchemy.”

Roy gives a small laugh. “Yeah, I could open some little handyman storefront. Go around the city fixing pipes and mending roofs. Probably make a third of what I’m making now. No, I think this is it for me.” He looks around the empty parlor, the mahogany booths and chairs stacked on the small wooden tables, the arched molding and expensive liquor lining the bar. The decor has hardly changed since he was a kid. They updated the lights from gas to electric and put in a new floor, but besides that, it’s the same as it’s always been. It’s home.

“It’s funny,” Riza starts. “When I found out you quit the military to work for your aunt I thought you were out of your mind. But you’ve faired much better than most of us.”

He nods. “There are worse ways to make a living.” He takes a sip of his own beer, which is starting to grow warm. “By the way, do you know anything about a dispute between Colonel Hamlin and Brigadier General Peters?”

Riza hums, thinking it over. “I heard a rumor that they were at each other’s throats over something or other.”

“Peters said Hamlin has been trying to oust him, but that seems a bit paranoid.”

Riza nods. “I haven’t heard anything through the grapevine, but I’ll let you know if I do. They’re in the 14th infantry, right? Last I heard, Hamlin has been gunning for a promotion, but who isn’t?”

Roy gives a small laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Sorry, it’s not important. I just enjoy gossip.”

She smiles. “Gossip makes the world go round.”

“That it does.”

Just then they heard the front door open, the small bell ringing to announce someone’s arrival.

“Sorry,” Roy starts, “we don’t open till–“

He turns, and goes quiet when he sees none other than Edward standing in the doorway. He’s dressed in a plain shirt and slacks with his hair tied back in a ponytail, the red coat nowhere in sight.

“Captain Hawkeye?” Edward says, ignoring Roy entirely.

“Edward, good to see you,” she says in return.

“You two know each other?” Roy asks.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Edward replies. “We work in the same building. It makes perfect sense that we know each other. How the hell do you guys know each other?”

“I could ask you two the same question,” Riza says calmly, her eyes moving between the two of them. In spite of himself, Roy actually blushes, but is still far better off than Edward, who turns beet red under her gaze.

“Or is that none of my business?” she asks smugly when neither of them offer a response.

-

“It’s been a minute. What have you been up to?” Roy asks after Riza takes her leave.

Ed shrugs. “Taking whatever bullshit the higher-ups throw my way. And trying to find some time to get my own shit done in between.”

“And how’s that been going for you?”

Ed slumps down into Riza’s vacant seat. “Disappointing.”

“Sorry to hear it. You want a drink?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you’re having.”

Roy nods and walks back over to the bar to pull a beer from the icebox, deciding to grab another for himself as well.

“So what brings you to my side of town?” he asks while handing off Ed’s drink and retaking his seat.

“I need your help with something. You do background checks?”

Roy nods. “That is part of our business,” he answers, curious and confused as to where this might be going.

“Have you ever had a customer named Harold Reeves? Forties, medium-height, blue eyes, weird chin?”

“Um… yeah. But I haven’t seen him around in a while. Why? What’s he tangled up in?”

“Morgue robbing.”

“Lovely.” Roy takes another sip, his interest thoroughly piqued.

Ed takes a sip of his own beer, and Roy doesn’t miss the look of distaste he tries so hard to hide. Sometime later Roy will have to help him find a drink he actually likes.

“Reeves got promoted to Surgeon General of the Fifth Ward two years ago, so hospitals eleven through thirteen are under his jurisdiction. It’s the poorest district in Central, which means a lot of the bodies are never claimed. I got a tip there from a nurse who shoved an IV in my arm last year. She says much fewer bodies have been coming in than going out.”

“Well, that sounds wholly unpleasant.”

“Yeah, I haven’t investigated the site yet. Could be nothing. But I just want a read on Reeves’ background.”

Roy hums. “Well, he was never my client, so I don’t know how much help I can be. But I think I did his background check a few years back. No red flags from what I can remember. Served as a battle surgeon, no scandals or legal troubles, divorced with no kids, and none of the girls we set him up with ever complained. If you want I can look a bit closer, but to be honest, you’d probably have more luck with a PI.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know any PIs. And I’m not sure which ones I can trust.”

“Fair enough,” Roy replies, fairly certain that this is less about Roy’s investigative abilities and more of an excuse to see him again.

“How much do you charge?” Ed asks.

Roy gives a short laugh. “This isn’t exactly part of our standard services. I’m not sure what the going rate is, but how about this? I’ll do it as a favor, and you can help me out with something else later down the line.”

“Deal. Just let me know if you need some furniture fixed or anything.”

“Will do. By the way, who told you Reeves was a customer here in the first place?”

Ed smiles. “He recommended it to me.”

Roy almost spits out his beer. “What? Seriously?”

“Yeah, shit you not. He said I should stop by sometime while I was in Central.”

“Damn, guess our reputation precedes us. Sure, I’ll look him up. But I’m pretty busy with things around here at the moment.”

“Yeah? Full schedule?”

That’s when Roy realizes that Ed hasn’t heard the news yet.

“Actually, I’m retired.”

Roy doesn’t miss the look of disappointment that crosses the kid’s face.

“Since when?”

“About a month ago.”

“Damn. Bad timing on my part.” He takes another sip of his beer, visibly grimacing as he swallows.

“I can set you up with someone else if you like.”

“That’s okay, I’m good.” He lowers his eyes as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks.

They sit there in awkward silence for a few seconds as Roy tries to come up with a decent segue. Honestly, he might be just as disappointed as Ed is. After they parted ways seven months ago Roy was genuinely hoping he would reach out again, even just to talk. He enjoyed the kid’s company. He’s sure he would have enjoyed the sex as well, but after several months with no contact, Roy figured the kid had taken his words to heart and moved on. And Roy was happy for him, if not selfishly disappointed. It was for his own good after all. He should be dating people his own age, not slumming it with overpriced escorts. But still, every time Roy saw Hughes he’d ask him how Edward was doing, and generally received an earful about how he was causing trouble from one border to the next.

“So what makes you think Reeves in particular is up to no good?” Roy asks. “Why not the hospital directors? Or someone lower down the pipeline?”

Ed shrugs. “I figured I might as well start at the top and work my way down.”

“Fair enough,” Roy replies right before finishing his drink.

“Hey, you want to get dinner some time?” Ed asks, a nervous twinge in his voice. “I’ll pay.”

Roy gives a small laugh. “How traditional.” He taps his empty bottle against the tabletop, thinking it over.

Sure, he’d love to get dinner with him and catch up on all he’s missed, but Edward isn’t exactly the most discreet of individuals, and virtually anyone off the street could recognize him in public. Roy tries his best to keep a low profile, and has been exquisitely successful on that front considering that he somehow made it to retirement without a single public scandal, despite the high profile nature of his clientele.

But hanging out in public with Edward would no doubt lead to trouble. Admittedly his confrontation with Peters rattled him more than he would like to admit, and considering that the upper echelons of Central universally detest Edward and his borderline-treasonous methods, Roy probably shouldn’t be giving the gossip circles any ammunition.

Roy sighs. “I’d really like that, but it’s probably not a good idea for us to be seen together in public.”

Edward’s expression flattens. “No, I guess not. What if I stop by here instead?”

“You really want to tarnish your reputation like that?”

“Half the brass in Central come here. Who cares?”

Roy thinks it over, wondering how suspicious it would look for Ed to be here during regular business hours. This isn’t exactly a popular venue for young single men, especially ones who look like Edward, who could probably get laid just by asking the first person off the street.

“What about your brother?” Roy asks. “What will he think?”

“I’ll just tell him the truth. You’re an informant. He’ll believe me.”

Roy nods, bites at his lip, thinks it over.

“No, it’s not a good idea. No offense, but a sizable portion of our regular clients really hate your guts, and we might lose some business if they knew we were having these little chats.”

Ed hums, seemingly more proud than offended by his less-than-stellar reputation. “So I can’t see you in private, and I can’t see you in public. Hm…” He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes lazily tracing the molding. “I’m staying in one of the dorms right now, but what if I rent a hotel room? Someplace big. We could meet there.”

Now that certainly piques Roy’s interest. His eyes involuntarily dart down to Edward’s lips, then his Adam’s apple, which is just visible above the collar of his shirt. Roy mentally weighs the pros and cons, but already knows it’s a losing battle. And after all, why shouldn’t they? Roy’s retired, it’s not like he has to justify the people he sleeps with on his own time. Edward may be impulsive and reckless, but Roy trusts that he knows how to keep a secret. It’s not like they’re colluding to bring down the military. Besides, who in their right mind could blame him? In his shoes, who wouldn’t surrender under such an offer? Even the higher ups who hate Edward would no doubt crumple under his advances in a second.

“Will you tell your brother?” Roy asks.

“You’re just an informant. Right?” he replies with a cheeky smile.

Roy laughs. “Yeah, guess I am. However, does your brother know that I’m not just Colonel Hughes’ old friend Roy?”

Ed shrugs. “Not exactly.”

“Are you planning to tell him?”

Ed smiles. “I probably should, shouldn’t I?”

Based on his tone, Roy has no faith he’s going to carry through on it.

“How much longer will you be in Central?” Roy asks.

“Just another week. Then I’m getting shipped out to East City.”

Roy nods. “I’ll try to get as much info on Reeves as I can by then. Do you want to meet in a hotel the day before you leave? I’m working that night so it’ll have to be before 3:00.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. How about noon at the Miller Hotel on 16th? Just ask the front desk which room I’m in.”

“Sounds good,” Roy replies, his excitement already growing. He’s not even sure why he suggested waiting so long, even though another week will hardly kill him. He supposes the anticipation is good. It’ll give him some time to think. Some time to figure out exactly what he wants this to be.

“Cool. Well, I should probably head out before people start talking.” Ed stands from his chair and slips his arms through the sleeves of his brown jacket. Roy’s not sure if he’s intentionally making his movements sensual, or if that’s simply Roy’s overeager imagination.

“See you around,” Roy calls as Ed starts walking towards the door.

“Yeah, see ya’,” he says with a final wave before letting the door fall shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally supposed to be about twice as long, but I needed to get something out to motivate me to finish the rest. Hopefully the next installment will be out soon!


End file.
